


Together We Fall Apart

by Glowkid



Category: Actor RPF, Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, POV First Person, So much angst, Timmy POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 20:57:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13578795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glowkid/pseuds/Glowkid
Summary: You know how these things go Armie said finally.  I nodded my head in quiet acceptance, but the truth was I didn’t.  I didn’t know how these things went, much less how these things started, but here I was, seeing how they ended.Timmy POV.





	Together We Fall Apart

**Author's Note:**

> As much as I love happy Timothée & Armie, I also love reading angsty Timothée & Armie so I thought I’d try my hand at it :)  
> Title from The Strokes song "Someday."

"I can’t do this" he said, rubbing his eyes closed. We were sitting in Armie’s hotel room, on the sofa, as the sunrise flooded into the suite, a purple-orange hue waking up New York gently. “But you want to?” I asked, my hand cupping the back of his neck, slowly massaging the skin as if I could coax the words out of his throat, the words I longed to hear yet knew deep down I never would.

"No," he said more assuredly, "I can’t."

I dropped my fingers from his neck, letting them fall back into my lap, as if his words had physically scorched me. I looked down at my chest, searching for what to say next. I couldn’t force it, not this, not something that was the most natural thing to me in the world. If he was letting me go, then I too had to let him go. I had to succumb to him the same as I had always done, give him what he wanted, even if this time it was less agreeable, a strange feeling as we’d come together more in the past year than I’d ever had with any other person.

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m so, so sorry Timothée” he repeated. Saying my name, that hurt more than anything. It was like a punch in the gut. He only called me by my full name when he was serious, when he was distancing his feelings, using my name as a polite formality instead of the familiarity Timmy held. Still, I knew he was truly sorry. I knew he was struggling with how to make it work, how to make everyone happy, his wife, his kids, me. In that order, I thought to myself. As much as he loved me, he could let me go. For everything we’d related on, this was a thought I couldn’t fathom, I would put Armie before everyone else, _I had_ put Armie before everyone else. Later, I’d realize we were more alike than I cared to admit. Armie was putting everyone before himself too, it just wasn’t me. It was Elizabeth and the kids. But at the time I said nothing, continuing to stare at my palms.

You know how these things go he said finally. I nodded my head in quiet acceptance, but the truth was I didn’t. I didn’t know how these things went, much less how these things started, but here I was, seeing how they ended.

Ok I murmured quietly, suddenly feeling as small as my voice.

We have to get back to reality he said. Reality? What was he talking about, _this was my reality_. I wanted to tell him that my love for him was real, _is real_ , as real as soil of the earth, as real as my lips on his. I thought nothing in my life could ever feel realer than this. Until this moment right now, the sound of my heart breaking, this was too fucking real. I imagined my heart crumbling, reverberating and shaking the earth so hard that people around the world would instinctively know that this was it, the moment Timmy’s heart broke in two with such force that it threatened to take all the love down with him, for if theirs wasn’t real then whose was? No, none of this reality bullshit. I shook my head, gathering my thoughts, “this, us” I said as I grab a fistful of his shirt in my hand, pulling him towards me, “this is as real as it gets. Our time in Italy, did that mean nothing? Was that not real?”

“It was a movie. We just got carried away, that’s all” he said.

“So all that was just work?” I replied incredulously. Why was he doing this? He used to make me melt, slink me out of my clothes gently, one praise upon another. But now, he was tearing me apart, one word at a time. I wanted to break down and cry, but my anger edged out like spitfire, ready to burn down every preconceived notion he had about me, about us.

“All those late night phone calls, early morning visits to my room, that was part of the job too I suppose? Huh, is that right Armie? Fucking me,” I said, grabbing his hand, pulling it down on my cock, “that was all method acting was it?” 

He pulled his hand away, sighing deeply, before meeting his eyes with mine. He gave me a look of defeat and pity, as if saying I was too young to understand. It only made me angrier. I didn’t want his pity, fuck, I just wanted him. I just wanted things to go back the way they were and instead we were getting pulled further apart. He was right next to me but he might as well have been a million miles away. I couldn’t read him like I used to, couldn’t find the answers I was looking for. Where had it all gone wrong? I looked up at him again, and seeing his searching eyes conveying how difficult this was for him, I begrudgingly felt a kinship of understanding, and with that, my anger started dissipating.

“Armie” I trailed softly, but I didn’t know what to say.

Tears rolled down my cheeks as Armie lifted my head up with his hand under my chin. Taking his thumb, he wiped the tears away but they kept rolling down my face, reminding Armie that he was the cause not the solution. Boy full of water he joked. I smiled pathetically. Typical Armie. I usually loved his ability to make light of any situation but in that moment I was too overwhelmed with the realization that it was really over to respond. I couldn’t make him feel better by laughing at his joke, and why should I, not when he was making me feel worse.

Instead I let my silence hang heavy in the air, saying more than I could on my own. He knew what I wanted to say and therefore, I didn’t need to say it. It didn’t need to be spoken into existence, it was already right there, an underlying current that had kept us tied together. At least until now. Now I felt like I'd been cut loose, like scissors had shredded through our link so vigorously that I was relinquished in a swift jerk, falling backwards while Armie stood overhead, a silent figure, no longer reaching his hand out for support.

The thought made me cry more and before I could register what was happening, I felt Armie’s soft lips on my cheeks, kissing my tears away. He kissed my eyelids, my mouth, his tongue eager for permission to be let in.  Just when I thought he was leaving me stranded, he’d pulled me to shore.  But it was too much, too many mixed signals and I pulled away.  As much as I wanted to stay, to surrender myself to his touch and have one last moment together, I couldn’t. It took every ounce of my willpower not to lean my forehead on his chest, feel his breath rise and fall, and have him run his hand down the back of my hair the way he did to comfort me.  I knew that would only make things worse, and so, knowing the conversation, as small as it was, was over, I rose to my feet and mumbled a quick goodbye, shutting the door before Armie could say another word.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I walked the 20 blocks home to my cramped studio apartment, hoping the breeze would perk me up and also not wanting to be the weirdo crying on the subway, I had enough lifetimes to do that.  By the time I arrived home, my legs were aching, each step feeling like a sluggish weight against the sidewalk.  Each step forward was a step further away from Armie and the life we could’ve had.  Closing the door to my apartment felt like the final sign, Timmy vs. the world, how cruel could it be, to give everything only to take it all away?  I slumped onto the bed, shoes still on, my stomach hit the comforter with a thud.  The bed, a punishing mistress, a place where I’d slept in Armie’s arms, shared Chinese takeout, teasing him for using chopsticks wrongly. 

“You can take the boy out of Texas” I’d said, “Excuse me for not having Chinese takeout every Christmas” he winked.  

The memories hurt, I closed my eyes tighter, letting the bed lure me in further as it attempted to swallow me whole.  There’s nothing for you out there it purred, stay here where it’s warm, let me envelope you.  I sighed deeply and let myself drift off to sleep.

Hours later, I woke up to a muffled ringing sound.  Blinking my eyes open, I realized it was my phone but I couldn’t find it.  I shuffled in the covers, reaching under and over the sheets before my hands grasped the cool screen.  My sister Pauline’s name flashed across the screen and I saw the time, it was 3 o’clock.  Shit, I was supposed to call her at 11 so we could have our weekly catchup chat, and we’d already missed our conversation last week when, forgetting the time change in Paris, I called her at 4 o’clock in the morning, drunk off an evening spent at Armie’s.  Fuck, Armie…how had the day simultaneously gone by so fast yet so slow?  What was I going to tell Pauline?  I wasn’t sure if I was ready to talk about it yet but also knew she was the only person I could talk to.

Lost in my thoughts, I missed her call, realizing when a text popped up on my screen.  The preview from Pauline appeared and I could hear her annoyance through the screen, you better call me Cheri it read.  Cheri, a nickname that had started as a joke when my parents bought me a garish cherry-covered sweater back from their trip to Paris, and Pauline and I exchanged looks like schoolchildren trying not to laugh at their teacher’s skirt tucked into her underwear. It had now become my nickname from Pauline, said totally unironically.  I sighed, it was now or never I guess.  Then, like a knee-jerk reaction, Armie’s voice slipped into my head, “if not later, when?” I pushed the memory back and dialed Pauline’s number.

After going through pleasantries and catching up on the day-to-day, I relented and told Pauline about the conversation with Armie that morning.  God, the conversation, now it was going to be remembered as The conversation, with a capital T.  The conversation where I’d been blindsided, The conversation where I tried not to make a fool of myself and beg for Armie to reconsider, The conversation that meant there would be no more conversations.  I sighed to Pauline on the phone, “why is love so hard?  Is it always this complicated?”  “Non, mon Cheri” she replied, “love is the easiest thing in the world.”  

"Then why does it feel so difficult" I replied. Pauline paused, “you’ll understand some day beautiful boy, just give it time.” 

Time, what a joke I thought to myself.  Six months in Italy, where Armie and I had all the time we could wish for because it felt like time had stopped.  Then endless hours of press tours, where time whirled around us frantically as we went from one interview to the next, answering the same questions over and over, laughing at the same anecdotes as if hearing them for the first time, playing stupid interview games for the reporter trying to get a viral video.  Time crawled in the shared hotel rooms. In flights across oceans, time jumped forwards and backwards, the dials spinning in all directions, the only thing steadying the numbers was Armie and I in the middle.  All that time and look what it had done, it had torn us apart. 

Suddenly I felt my head start to throb, all this thinking was doing me in and I couldn’t keep up.  So, tired and unable to read between the lines of Pauline’s advice, I told her I had to go and that we’d catch up later.  “Bye Cheri,” she said, “try to have some fun tonight.”

Fun, not even the world had fun in store as I looked at the rain beading up outside my bedroom window, the promise of a beautiful morning long gone, God playing tricks on me.  "Boy full of water" Armie had said, right now I think my tears could fill up a whole ocean.  I ran my hands through my hair, tugging slightly on the curls as I breathed in deeply.  What now?  I felt totally lost, lost in a sea made of my own tears, I could drown right here.  Wiping my red eyes, I decided to get up.  I couldn’t do this, I couldn’t just mope around and besides where would that get me?  Certainly not back into Armie’s arms. No, can’t think about Armie right now.  I need to go out and get my mind off things.  Things, I said nonchalantly to myself, as if I was talking about stressing over an overdue bill or wondering if I’d said the wrong thing to an interviewer.  Little things, everyday things, not losing the love of your life things.

I decided to call Ansel, to ask if there was anything going on tonight and he invited me to a downtown club where his friend’s band was playing.  I agreed and planned to meet him at 11.  I found Ansel inside, at the bar, dressed in dark jeans and a leather jacket, surrounded by some of our old friends from school.  He welcomed me with that million dollar Ansel Elgort smile.  Ansel was like that, he had a way of making you feel like the most important person in the room, as if he’d been waiting for you to arrive while somehow simultaneously appearing shocked that you showed up, like an unexpected but welcome gift. 

"Timothée!" he yelled, saying my name with the accent, as my father intended, but which I’d always shied away from for fear of sounding pretentious.  I was Timothy to the media, Tim-o-tay to Ansel, Cheri to Pauline, and Timmy to Armie, always Timmy.  Well not anymore I thought to myself, remembering Armie’s cold Timothee earlier that morning.

Ansel stretched his arms out towards me, exclaiming “Where have you been man!” as I greeted him with a hug.  “Ah, it’s been a crazy week, you know how it is.” I replied, gesturing vaguely in the air in hopes he would take it at face value and not ask too many questions.  Ansel laughed, “Yeah press tours are hectic but so worth it to get your film out there.”  I smiled shyly, not wanting to talk about the film anymore because to talk about the film was to talk about Armie.  “So that’s your friend’s band?” I asked, nodding towards the stage.  The club was dark except for the strobe lights blinking wildly, shades of green and pink quickly lighting up faces before they disappeared into the dark again.  “Yeah!” Ansel yelled as the band revved up for their next song, “pretty great huh?” he smiled.  That smile, I’d missed his smile. 

Ansel and I had known each other since our days at “the fame school” as everyone called it.  We hadn’t seen each other much due to our busy shooting schedules, me with Call Me By Your Name, him with Baby Driver.  Other than the obligatory Instagram like and sporadic text, I’d been out of touch with him and it wasn’t until this moment, with Ansel’s eyes smiling brightly at me, that I realized how much I needed a friend and a distraction right now.  Ansel, reading my mind, quickly placed a shot in my hand declaring, “the night is ours boys!” as we clinked glasses.  I gulped the shot down in quick succession, as Ansel banged on the bar top, ordering another round.

“It’s so good to see you Timothée,” he said, wrapping his arm around my shoulder.  “You too,” I replied self-consciously.  Ansel cocked his head towards me, looking me up and down with suspicion, “Hey man, is everything all right?” he asked.  “Yeah it’s all good,” I responded, trying to play it cool.  

I couldn’t get into it right now, telling Ansel about Armie ending things.  I knew he’d swoop into caretaker mode, insisting we go home and have a serious chat about my feelings, and how I’m holding up, and if I needed anything that he’d be there, and oh wait let’s grab a shit ton of carbs and scarf them down while we talk about how shitty Armie is.  I loved that side of Ansel, the caring best friend he’d been since high school, not letting the fame get to his head.  He was still just as humble and always ready to drop anything at a moment's notice for his friends but I couldn’t handle the sweetness right now.  Having Ansel look at me with sad eyes, nodding understandingly, I could hardly handle Armie’s pity, much less Ansel's.  So I downed the second shot and shouted over the loud beats, “let’s dance!”  Ansel smirked, taking a swig of his beer, and replied with an enthusiastic “fuck yeah” as he dragged me onto the dance floor.

We danced beneath the strobe lights until our hair was sweaty and matted to our foreheads.  Laughing into each other as we jumped up and down, arms flailing in the air, not caring if I looked like the world’s worst dancer.  This is what I would do, I would sweat the thoughts out, sweat Armie out.  He doesn’t want to be with me?  No sweat.  What’s that saying, don’t sweat the small stuff and it’s all small stuff?  Yeah, that’s what I’d do, I’d cleanse myself right here on the dance floor.  We danced long after Ansel’s friends finished their set, when the DJ took over and started playing Troye Sivan’s song “My My My.”

“Fuck, I love this song!”  Ansel shouted, running his hands all over his body, eyes closed and biting his bottom lip in attempt to do his best Troye impersonation.  I laughed, Ansel was about as sexy as a kid brother but I shouted back “I love you!”  Finally, I was beginning to feel free.  Free of the Armie bullshit, free of the awards buzz, free from myself.  I felt young and alive and like the city was mine for the taking, all I had to do was reach out and touch.

Then I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket, I pulled it out the front of my jeans, not looking at the caller ID as I put it next to my right ear. I held my left hand up to the other ear in a sorry attempt to block out the throbbing club music.  "Hello?" I said.  There was no response.  "Hello?" I said again.  Still no response, but this time I could hear slight breathing.  I tried again, “Listen I’m sorry but it’s really loud.  You’re gonna have to speak up.  Who is this?”

“Timmy,” said a husky voice, thick as molasses and trying to pull me through the phone.  There it was, my name, the name that belonged to him. Armie was calling, of course it was Armie.  I froze, feeling caught off guard.  One part of me hoped he was calling to tell me it was all a big mistake and that he’d changed his mind and he didn’t want to waste one more minute apart.  But another part of me, a bigger part, wanted nothing to do with him, not right now.  I needed time to process.

“Timothee, are you coming bro?” Ansel yelled in the background.  I stood unmoving, waiting to see if Armie would say anything more.  When he didn’t, I looked back at Ansel, then turned towards the phone speaker, “I’ve gotta go” I said hastily and hung up as I heard the beginning’s of Armie’s resistance “Tim…”

Ansel came up behind me, knowingly ignoring my fallen face, and declared in no uncertain terms that this club was dead and everyone was going to a house party of some dude who claimed to know Kid Cudi.  “I can’t man” I replied, suddenly feeling deflated.  I no longer wanted to be out in the city, surrounded by hopeful faces, everyone pretending this was the best night of their lives.  Oh to be young and alive in the city, who was I kidding?  I’d only prolonged the pain, muddied it in alcohol.  Did I really expect the emotions that had brewed for nearly a year to just vanish in a single night because I ordered it to?  No, the only thing I was certain of was that I wanted to go home.

I told Ansel I would catch them next time and headed outside, surprised by the cold turn the night had taken, the wind whipping through my coat and I pulled it close to my chest, arms crossed.  I hailed a cab and rode home looking out the window at the night sky, not a star in sight.  I used to think the city lights were as beautiful as the stars, but now I wasn’t so sure.  One night out in Crema, one of many Armie and I shared, he’d pulled me close to his chest, his chin resting on my shoulder as his arms wrapped around my waist.  “Look at the stars Timmy,” he whispered into my ear, nuzzling his nose in my hair, “have you ever seen so many stars in your life?”  Before that night, I’d never given a second thought to the stars missing from the New York sky.  When you’ve never had something, you don’t miss it as much. 

How I wished that was true of Armie, instead I’d had something so close to heaven that I as it dripped through my fingers like sand in an hourglass, all I could do was stare and hope it was a terrible dream.  Tears pooled in my eyes as the cab pulled up to my apartment. I tipped the driver, and got out.  Walking towards my front steps, I turned at the door, taking one last look at the night sky before pulling out my phone.  My fingers did the familiar motions, finding the name at the top of my contacts list, opening a new message.  To Armie, I’ll text you later I wrote and hit send before I could change my mind.  Maybe that call had meant something, maybe he'd finally found the right words to say, maybe i should give him a chance.  But it was already after 1 am and I was tipsy, so maybe I was just texting in hopes that he’d come over.  Whatever the intention was, it was out there now.  No taking it back.

As I walked towards my apartment door, I saw a familiar figured in the hallway.  The tall frame crowding my door, head down, looking at his phone.  It was Ansel.  "What are you doing here" I asked him.  “I couldn’t leave you alone,” he replied before elaborating that Pauline had texted him.  I shook my head in embarrassment, muttering goddamn Pauline underneath my breath.  “Hey, hey don’t be mad at her” Ansel replied, clutching my arm as I unlocked the door.

I sat down on the bed, looking up at Ansel across the room.  “I don’t what’s happening,” I said, stifling a sob as I buried my face into my hands.  The spell had been broken, and the presence of Ansel in my apartment, so reassuring, made me feel safe and alone at the same time.  Ansel approached the bed, lying down on his back as he pulled me into his chest, my head resting in the crook of his arm as he stroked my cheek.  “It’s alright,” he said, “It’s alright, we don’t have to talk about.”  I started to cry even more, soaking through his shirt.  It was such a relief to let it out without having to say anything at all, without having to explain myself.  Just then my phone lit up. I grabbed it, the light blinding my face as I read Armie’s text, in full view of Ansel, “We are real.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I had so much fun writing this, hope you enjoy it too!


End file.
